


We Are Home

by Starlithorizon



Series: Making Home [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: California, Christmas, Fluff, I'm Sorry, M/M, Meet the Family, california is important to both me and carlos, in october i don't care, poor use of spanish, some homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos brings Cecil back to LA to meet his family for Christmas. The trip to California is, as expected, a very interesting one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EverlivingGhosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverlivingGhosts/gifts).



> Whoops, my fingers slipped and now this story is for EverlivingGhosts, who is just a lovely human who I hope feels better soon! Enjoy the happy Cecilos feels, friend!  
> Quick headcanon time: Carlos is from Inglewood, a suburb in LA. He's third-generation American, so he and his family try to integrate Spanish into their everyday conversations to keep it. You know how it is with languages: use it or lose it. Also, Night Vale is fairly close to Tucson, Arizona, but since it's Night Vale, it's weird. It's about an eight-hour drive from LA to Tucson, but it's always longer than that to Night Vale. They made the drive to LA in about ten hours, thought the scientists' drive to Night Vale took two days.  
> I'll add vaguely relevant headcanons as I think of them. Let's all look forward to all the things!  
> EDIT: Okay, so my Cecil headcanons don't really fit with what I've described here, not anymore. For what it's worth, my current headcanons all center around a totally human (though kinda weird) Cecil. I was thinking about going through this little series and changing things, like omitting the third eye and purple blush, but since the weird tattoos act as a plot point in this fic, I'm allowing them to stay. This just feels like an offshoot of my more typical Night Vale 'verse, but everything related to Carlos and the town itself has stuck. And this note was really, really long, but I just thought that I'd throw it in, since it seems relevant.

It had been six months since he'd gathered his courage and asked Cecil on a date, since he'd talked about trees and thinking, since he'd kissed the silly man and fled. Six months was a decent length of time, and in Night Vale, it was practically an eternity. It was a lovely sort of eternity to, draped as it was with watches and cooking and kisses and fear. Carlos had readily moved out of the big empty house that had once housed over fifteen scientists (himself included) and into a small and warm apartment with Cecil. They'd been together for three months when they unpacked the last box. He knew that he'd found a home in Night Vale, in this apartment with the afghan his sister had knitted and every mirror covered, in Cecil.

It had hardly been a week since their first date when Carlos told his mother that he thought Cecil might be special. He'd expected a short guilt trip for not telling his mom sooner that he'd been interested in Cecil, but she barely skipped a beat before asking what he was like.

"Perfect," he had sighed. That had been slightly easier than waxing rhapsodic and telling her that Cecil was like water in this desert, like the moon and stars and void, like a part of himself he hadn't known was missing. It had only taken death to show him how he felt, and God, he'd been such a fool for waiting so long.

Over the days and weeks and months, Carlos had found himself telling his sisters and mother about this peculiar, beautiful man that was _his_ , and Carlos told Cecil all about his family in turn. He knew better to ask about Cecil's family, about the mother he missed and the brother he'd forgotten, so he let Cecil borrow memories of big sisters and kitchens warm with the smell of cooking and a father with a big warm smile. He taught Cecil how to make real enchiladas (for a city in Arizona, Night Vale did _not_ have good Mexican food, though maybe that was just his Californian bias) and murmured endearments in Spanish in quiet moments.

They built a life together and decorated it with Carlos's memories.

Six months into their relationship, hands busy stirring Alfredo sauce and holding the most current issue of _Scientific American_ , his cell phone rang.

"Cecil, can you get that?" he asked, turning fully to the stove to stir the fettuccine now.

"Carlos's phone, Cecil speaking," the other said lightly after picking up. It was quiet for a long moment, and Carlos just barely heard a suppressed squeak coming from his boyfriend. Eyebrow raised and hands brandishing a magazine and a spoon, Carlos whirled. Cecil's eyes were wide, and his whole face was tinged violet.

"Um, um, y-yes, I _am_ that Cecil. Are you...Mrs. Mendoza?"

There was another pause, and Carlos just knew it was his mother on the other end, telling Cecil to please call her Magdalena. The purple blush darkened.

After a brief conversation where Cecil stammered and admitted that he was in love and that Carlos was right there in the kitchen, Cecil handed the phone over. The intended recipient of the call, now sighing deeply and wondering what on earth he could say to calm Cecil down, pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Mom," the scientist said, handing Cecil the spoon and taking his seat at the table. "How are you?"

"Enough about me," she said insistently, despite the fact that they hadn't even spoken. "That boy's voice is _beautiful_. That's it, _mijo_ —when are you visiting? We haven't seen you in a year, and the kids keep asking after their _tío_. Everyone misses you. Tell me you'll be here for Christmas."

Carlos sighed, running a hand through his hair. Cecil made a small noise from what help like thousands of miles away, and he smiled into the phone.

"How about the twenty-third? That'll give us a couple of days before Christmas."

So, with several orders from his mother and a few questions answered by Cecil, they made plans to drive out to LA and meet the family.

* * *

They packed everything into the trunk of Carlos's Honda Civic on the twenty-second and headed west. They plugged Cecil's iPod into the car, and Carlos noted that most of the songs were old selections for the weather on the show. Carlos smirked as they hurtled through the desert vastness.

"What's the deal with the weather?" Carlos asked, flashing a quick smile at his boyfriend. Said boyfriend blushed, hot and violet. "Do the songs actually mean anything? Is there something I'm not getting?"

"No, no," Cecil said quickly. He took a deep breath and released it in a quick sigh. "No, they don't really mean anything. They're just whatever come up next on shuffle."

"So why do you refer to it as the weather?"

The radio host rubbed the back of his neck and blushed more. "Have you ever talked to the local meteorologists? They're— Well, they're kind of a pain. They talk, and they talk, and they _talk_ , and not even about the weather. Meteorologists just don't know when to _stop_! So I got a bit clever one day and played the first song on some CD an intern had left for me to borrow, and I've been doing it ever since. People think there's some significance to it, but there's not. It's just whatever's next on my iPod."

Carlos grinned and laced his fingers through Cecil's, bringing the back of the blushing man's hand to his lips.

"And the daily Shades of the Sky Forecast? How do you get that information?"

Cecil shrugged, blush softened but still very present due to the scientist's breath on his skin.

"This thing isn't entirely useless," he admitted, gesturing vaguely at the mark on his forehead. Carlos knew by now that the mark on his forehead wasn't a tattoo, but a functioning sort of third eye. It was just a circle with a line running vertically through the center, but it allowed Cecil almost unlimited omniscience. It flared briefly as Cecil mentioned it, but faded back into his skin. It was one of several similar tattoos on his body, most notably on the palms of his hands, and all of them had disappeared for this trip. Most of his other tattoos were more traditional, the efforts of needles and ink and not eldritch powers.

"Are they going to think I'm too strange?" Cecil murmured, staring at the blurring desert through the windshield. Carlos wanted to pull over and kiss him properly, to make him understand, to make him see, but all he could do was press another kiss to his hand.

"Never, _mi amor_. Never."

* * *

They stopped for dinner at In-N-Out in El Centro, just across the street from their hotel. They didn't hold hands or kiss in this desert town struck with December chill, though they shared secret smiles and an order of animal style fries.

"I missed these," Carlos sighed before popping a fry covered in _things_ into his mouth. Cecil grinned.

"I may have to talk the City Council into bringing In-N-Out to Night Vale. This burger is fantastic."

Of course, most of Cecil's burger joy was focused on the bun full of wheat and wheat byproducts, and Carlos couldn't blame him. God, how he'd missed bread!

Carlos wouldn't even think about the fact that Cecil had an in with City Council, because really, it was just altogether better if he ignored some things.

* * *

They left the hotel early and took the San Diego Freeway north for a while, and Carlos was eager to take Cecil to Santa Monica in the afternoon. He knew that, despite the fact that Cecil had been to Europe and presumably flown over the Atlantic Ocean, he'd never properly seen the ocean at all. He'd certainly never _felt_ it. True, it would be absolutely _freezing_ in December, but in this case, who cared?

As they drove over the Batiquitos Lagoon in Carlsbad, Cecil pressed his face against the window and gasped, "Is that it? Is that the ocean?"

Carlos chuckled softly and switched lanes.

"No, that's just a lagoon. We should be able to see it soon, though. And if we don't, no need to worry: I have a surprise for you."

"I'm sure it'll be _perfect_ ," Cecil sighed, smiling out his window at the body of water stretching past the freeway.

Carlos felt him thrum with excitement as they drove past more water, but without the scientist's affirmation that it was indeed the ocean and not some other stray collection of water, he maintained the composure of someone pretending to be calm.

That was when Carlos understood that he had never loved anyone like he loved Cecil, and he likely never would.

They continued the drive with little fragments of warmth in their rib cages, though neither ever knew.

* * *

When Carlos caught the first glimpses of the water, greyish under the broad blue sky, he looked over to Cecil, the words on his tongue. He swallowed them and let Cecil sleep a bit longer.

* * *

When he pulled into the pier's parking lot, Cecil was still sleeping. With a careful grin on his face, Carlos reached out and stroked Cecil's jaw.

" _Despierta, mi querido_ ," Carlos said softly, leaning in close and pressing a kiss on Cecil's temple. He woke slowly, blinking owlishly, eyes bleary behind the lenses of his glasses.

"Are we there?" he asked, and he sounded so like a child that Carlos couldn't help but laugh.

"Sort of," the scientist allowed. "I made a bit of a detour. Look."

Cecil did as he was told, and it clearly took a moment for the sight to register. The sky was grey and crisp, hanging heavily over the steely ocean just so close. When it clicked, Cecil gasped and grabbed Carlos's hand.

"Is that it?" he asked in a whisper. Now, Carlos laughed brightly and openly, buoyed by Cecil's reaction.

"Yes. Come on, let's go down to the beach, and then we can get lunch on the pier. My family's not expecting us for another few hours."

Before he could even unlock the car doors, he was brought into a breathless kiss that tasted so strongly of love and cinnamon that Carlos could do nothing more than carry on and hope the fire in his chest would never so much as waver, knowing that it wouldn't.

* * *

 

There was nothing in the world like watching Cecil at the beach. Despite the fact that it was only in the mid-sixties, and that the ocean was decidedly much colder, Cecil was standing in the surf and laughing so giddily at the water frothing around his ankles. He had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and the hems of his pants rolled up to his knees, his tie safe behind his sweater vest and his hair wild in the ocean breeze. Carlos sat on the sand, Cecil's shoes and socks safe beside him.

It was the most beautiful thing in the world, and this was coming from a man who had been to the Getty, who had seen the Grand Canyon, who had seen a sunrise over the Rhine. He had seen new species through microscopes, had seen the CERN supercollider, had seen his niece on the day she was born. Every single thing paled in comparison to this blissful creature cheering in the ocean and looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing the world had ever given him.

Before he was entirely aware, Carlos had taken off his shoes and socks, rolled up his own jeans, and met the love of his entire existence where the waves thrashed against land in a kiss for the ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't include the family, but is almost entirely thanks to the fact that I was _super_ excited just thinking about Cecil seeing the ocean for the first time, and I just wanted to spend a bit of time with that mental image.  
>  Also, I might be projecting my own opinions when I say that there's a major Californian bias for Mexican food, where we (or just me, I dunno) are fully convinced that the only place that does it better than we do would be Mexico. Also, does everyone's else family have _their_ Mexican restaurant? Is that a thing I made up? Should I just stop nattering and go to sleep?  
>  Probably is the answer to both of those questions.  
> (Sorry for the babbling, I just have a lot of things to say about this story.)  
> Quick translation:  
>  _Despierta, mi querido._ Wake up, my dear.


	2. Meet the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I give Carlos a big family? Seriously.

By the time they made it to Carlos's parents' house, they had dried off and were excited to see everyone. Well, Carlos was. He especially missed his mom and nieces and nephews. He knew that the part of the family that still lived in California would be there, but he hadn't anticipated that they'd all be there _now_ , waiting, cars littering the drive and the street in front of the house.

 _Ambush_ , Carlos thought, barely suppressing a groan.

"Sorry ahead of time, Cecil," he sighed as he parked the car on the opposite side of the street. "I didn't realize that everyone would be here _today_. We can always set up camp at a motel and come back tomorrow."

Cecil quieted him with a soft, chaste kiss.

"This is okay. It is. I can't wait to meet everyone anyway."

Carlos gave Cecil the broadest grin he could manage and they got out of the car. Carlos carried their luggage and Cecil carried the gifts. It took some maneuvering, but Carlos opened the door, ushering Cecil in with a nod. The second the door closed, a flurry of bodies burst into the foyer, crowing and cheering and calling out Carlos's name with the same drawl that Cecil used, fond and pleased, though perhaps not as in love.

"Hi, hi, hi," Carlos said, laughing around his greeting. He dropped the bags to the floor and everyone surged further forward, wrapping him in dozens of hugs and endearments.

"Oh, we missed you," one voice said plantively over the swirl of (perfectly ordinary, perfectly human) limbs.

"You don't call enough," another accused fondly.

"Did you bring presents?" a third chirped eagerly. Carlos hugged as many family members back as he could, beaming and radiating with such concentrated. He knew that Cecil was standing in the doorway, likely a bit uncomfortable. A quick glance his way showed that the scientist was right.

Cecil stood there, hair neat and glasses straight and presents clutched like lifelines. It took a moment for Carlos to extricate himself from his family's embrace and stand beside Cecil.

"You'll do fine," he whispered, resting a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder.

Cecil smiled with courage.

"Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Cecil. Cecil, this is my family." He paused a moment, confused. "I don't know if I should introduce everyone or let them introduce themselves. Um."

A small, birdlike woman with the same eyes as Carlos and hair gone mostly grey stepped up first. She patted Cecil on the arm, noting a blank refusal to release the gifts.

"We met on the phone," she said soothingly, smiling so widely that her whole face crinkled with it. "I'm Magdalena. Welcome."

Cecil gave her a small, nervous grin. "Uh, hi. Hello. I can see where Carlos got his _perfect_ hair."

Everyone laughed heartily, and a tall, brown mountain of a man stepped forward. He had the same strong jaw and a lilting smile so like his son's that Cecil couldn't help returning it. His hair had gone totally, coarsely grey, and had thinned a bit.

"You saying my hair's not perfect, _chico_?" the man asked, drawing forward in an entirely too predatory manner.

" _Dad_ ," Carlos groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. His father gave a booming laugh, the soundtrack to his childhood.

"Hey, relax, Carlitos. I'm only teasing. We all know you got your mama's hair." His father pressed a light kiss to Magdalena's temple, grinning broadly when she swatted him away. "You can call me Henry. You need a hand with those?"

"O-oh. Uh, yes, thank you."

Henry took several of the gifts from Cecil's iron grip and led him into the living room. Everyone trailed after, chattering and competing for Carlos's attention.

"So how was the drive?" asked Maria, one of Carlos's older sisters. She bumped his elbow with her own, grinning. They hadn't gotten along particularly well as kids, the woes of a four-year difference, but once she left for college, they became quite close. The same had happened with their oldest sister, Ana, and if someone had told a thirteen-year-old Carlos that he'd appreciate his older sisters, he would have snorted with something like derision. He wasn't sure if absence really did make the heart grow fonder, but the data certainly seemed to support that hypothesis.

"It wasn't bad. We stayed the night in El Centro and spent a few hours at the pier today. I forgot how much I missed the sea."

"I still don't get why you moved out into the middle of the desert, but clearly it worked out," she said, grinning wolfishly. She elbowed him in the ribs and laughed when be blushed.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess it did," he admitted, allowing a small smile. She beamed and slung an arm around his shoulders.

Cecil got to arranging the presents under the tree with his parents, igniting a much smaller and steadier warmth in the hollow of his collarbone. Seeing Cecil kneeling beside the ancient fake tree covered in tinsel and ornaments he and his sister had made as kids, in ornaments everyone had picked up in their travels, in ornaments the kids had picked out and put up; well, it was beautiful. Everything in the house was warm and nostalgic, from the family portraits to the evergreen-scented candles flickering on the coffee table. It was so wonderful to see Cecil so neatly woven into his family and traditions.

"God, Ed doesn't even look at me like that, and we've been married thirteen years," Ana teased as she sidled up to her siblings. Carlos blushed even hotter.

"Sorry," he muttered, throwing his gaze at one of Maria's afghans draped over their dad's chair. Ana smiled and shook her head.

"Don't be," she chastised softly. "It's nice seeing you so in love with something you can't read with a machine." The petty part of Carlos that was still thirteen years old and contrary wanted to say that he could measure his love though EKGs and brain waves, but she had a point. He'd never felt so strongly about something he couldn't quantify. Before Cecil, before Night Vale, he'd only been properly in love once before. They'd been together for three years, his family loved him and everyone thought it would last.

Everyone, of course, except Carlos.

Carlos had been terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing to drive George away, and he spent three years walking on eggshells. Imagine, then, Carlos arriving in Night Vale to the sounds of _perfect_ and _I fell in love instantly_.

What he had with Cecil was so vastly different. It was elemental and pure, stable like gold. He'd been afraid, at first, of disappointing his worshiping radio personality, but when they finally got together and Cecil started teasing him and calling him out on shit like chewing too loudly or neglecting their plans for science, he knew that he'd found someone who would always love him no matter what, in shining absolutes.

"You're doing it again," Ana laughed.

"Yeah, yeah," Carlos said, breaking out of his reverie. "Where are all the kids? They weren't in the hall earlier."

"Backyard, I think. Want me to call everyone in? Or do you want to go out there?"

"I think I'll go outside. It's already crowded enough. Cecil?"

The radio host, who was busy playing a round of Present Tetris with Henry turned with a small smile already on his face.

"Yes, Carlos?"

"I'm heading outside to say hi to the kids. Would you like to come with me?"

Cecil shone Christmas light-bright with joy. Luckily, his glow was less than literal, but the sentiment remained.

"Yes, of course!" He scrambled to his feet, thrusting the box in his hands at Magdalena and following Carlos to the sliding glass door in the dining room. Through it, they could see all of the kids running around, half of them brandishing foam swords, and yelling. Cecil touched the glass lightly, brows furrowing. Carlos had memories of running around this backyard with his cousins and friends, of lying on the grass and watching caterpillars, of reading _A Brief History of Time_ on the the swing set. Cecil didn't have that luxury. He didn't have any tangible childhood, just his mother warning him about mirrors.

Maybe one day, one beautiful day, they would give their own child a wonderful childhood.

Carlos took Cecil's hand and squeezed it warmly, sliding the door open and leading him outside. The kids all stilled just long enough to see Carlos before running at him, shouting a mixture of _tío_ and Uncle Carlos. Six pairs of arms wound around the scientist, and all he could do was laugh brightly and hug them back as best he could with one free arm.

"Did you bring us stuff?" asked a little girl with curly black hair and enormous eyes. The eldest child in the group, a girl of about twelve, knocked the back of her hand against her arm.

"Shut up, Josephine. They just got here, and that's _rude_."

"Hey, don't tell me to shut up, you're not the boss of me!"

"Guys, hey, no fighting. Everyone's presents are under the tree. God, look at you all, you're all growing like weeds!" Carlos crowed.

"Mom says I'm growing like a flower," Josephine insisted. A little boy with similarly curly hair and dark green eyes snorted.

"You're totally a weed." "Shut _up_ , Junior!"

Carlos pressed a kiss to the top of Josephine's head.

"Nah, this _chica_ is definitely a little flower. So how've you all been? How's school going? You and Julia started kindergarten this year, didn't you, Rafael?"

"Yeah! Miss Rosenburg says we're both really smart, but _I_ count better," Rafael said, directing a smug grin at his twin sister. She glowered fiercely.

"Well, _I'm_ better at reading than you!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"How about you, Mary? Seventh grade this year, right?"

Carlos continued to quiz the children, who eventually went on to quiz Carlos and Cecil about Night Vale. They sat on the concrete patio as the sun slipped past the horizon and darkened their little world. In the hushed blue twilight, lit only by the voices of the people he loved, Carlos felt Cecil's head fall gently upon his shoulder. Julia tucked herself closer to her uncle, and Josephine tangled their legs together.

There was a special sort of light for family. It was soft and golden, like the flame of a candle that smelled like Christmas trees. It hung heavy in the air, surrounding the little ring of laughter and stories on the patio behind his parent's house.

He'd missed this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really enjoy writing children. I think it's cause I miss the kids in my life. Whatevs, that's what Thanksgiving break is for.  
> But you need to know that I did _not_ draw up a family tree to keep track of this family, and Cecil is _not_ on it, and I am _not_ sorry.


	3. Around the Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinner table scenes are surprisingly fun to write, especially when Cecil and Carlos are busy explaining Night Vale to everyone else.  
> Another headcanon: science hasn't abandoned Night Vale completely—it's a place where science has shifted and molded itself to fit around the impossibilities.

It had been dark for a while when Magdalena slid the patio door open and called everyone in for dinner. The half-dozen children, scientist, and only mildly eldritch radio host all got to their feet, scrambling into the dining room. When the warmth struck them all, drawing rosy heat to each face, Carlos noted just how cold it had been outside; Cecil's hand was like ice in his palm.

"It smells fantastic, _Mamá_ ," Carlos sighed, taking a chair near the head of the table. Cecil sat beside him and all of the adults and children soon ringed the grand dining table and its smaller, folding companion for the kids. The surface was covered in Carlos's favorites, including his mom's enchiladas and Ana's famous baked ziti.

"Hey, we helped too," Maria said, raising an eyebrow. Her grin was only barely suppressed, though, and he allowed himself to stick out his tongue. The younger children all shrieked with laughter, shouting things like "Silly _tío_!" around mouthfuls of rice.

"Carlos, I love you, but your enchiladas are _nothing_ like this," Cecil very nearly moaned. He smiled broadly at Magdalena. "These are the best, _ever_."

His mother's smile was so smug and so knowing. She could have teased, but her face softened slightly.

"You've been cooking for him, Carlitos?" she asked, smile turning more fond than knowing.

"Well, yeah," he said. "I like cooking."

"Your son is an _excellent_ cook, Magdalena."

"You know what this means, Carlitos?" Anna asked with a grin.

"What?"

"You get to spend all day cooking with us. You're not getting out of it _this_ year!"

The warm bickering around the table was as familiar as anything, and it further reminded Carlos just how much he had missed everyone. He was beyond thrilled to see Cecil jumping headfirst into it, quickly adopted as he'd been. Edgar and Chris, Ana and Maria's husbands, seemed to take him under their wing, acting as mentors. They jokingly told him that marrying Mendoza had been the best choice they'd each made. Cecil and Carlos each flushed at that, though their hands laced together under the table. It was an idea that Carlos really, really liked.

"Speaking of which," Maria said, raising an eyebrow, "when are you two getting married? Are you?"

"It's not legal in Arizona, is it?" Henry asked, face furrowing in confusion. "But you could always go to New Jersey or wherever."

"Uh—" Carlos choked out, face on fire. He'd barely talked to Cecil about potentially getting married, and now he was being interrogated by his family. He knew that their possible future wedding—and there _would_ be a big ceremony, if they had any say—would be all planned out by the time they left.

"Almost all forms of marriage are legal in Night Vale," Cecil said, slipping into his Radio Voice. It always slid into place, unbidden, every time he explained something about their home. "Same-sex, different-sex, corporeal and non-corporeal alike. If you love someone, who is City Council to stand in the way of that?"

There was a brief silence as some of Cecil's words slotted into place, as everyone caught _corporeal_ and _non-corporeal_. Explaining his relationship to Cecil had been as easy as saying, "I have a boyfriend now." How, though, could he tell his family what Night Vale was like? They had no idea that he'd actually been killed once. If they had known, everyone would have insisted that he return to LA, despite the fact that he could never do that. Obviously, Carlos could leave Night Vale whenever he wanted, and he could leave for good. But LA wasn't home like that terrifying desert town. He had a reward card for the Ralph's, he was two stamps away from getting a free cone at the White Sand Ice Cream Shop, and he got his mail delivered to the apartment he shared with Cecil. Night Vale was home.

"Did he say—" Edgar mumbled. Carlos sighed deeply.

"Night Vale is...different," he ventured. "It doesn't quite work like other places."

"Is that a small-town thing?" Maria asked after a lengthy pause. He barely suppressed a smirk.

"Hardly. Night Vale is the most scientifically interesting place in the country—possibly the world. It's like science bends itself around the impossibilities of this place."

Carlos told his family about a place where the sun didn't do anything at the right time, about how clocks weren't real, about how time itself didn't work. Cecil ran reverent fingers over the face of the watch on his wrist, a delicate reminder of a world given over. The only true timepiece in Night Vale. Carlos talked about a tiny underground city, foregoing his momentary death. He talked about a dragon running for mayor, the Sheriff's Secret Police, and a Subway sandwich shop with no exits. He was tempted to dig out his flash drive and let everyone read his reports, just to hammer in the fact that this was his new reality, but Cecil acted instead.

"That's all ignoring the fact that there are several cats floating in the station bathroom," he laughed. Everyone at the table just blinked, already shell-shocked by Carlos's descriptions of the town.

"We're gonna have to visit this place one day," Henry said after a long while. "Your mother is always trying to get us to go somewhere!"

"If we're gonna go somewhere, Arizona better just be a stop on the way to somewhere like Italy or Paris," Magdalena warned with a smile. She winked at Carlos. "Sorry, _mijo_."

"Don't be! No matter what Night Vale Travel Authority says, it's hardly a visitable place."

"Is _visitable_ even a word?" asked Mary, ever the contrary twelve-year-old.

"It is as of two years ago," Cecil said with a straight face. Of course, it was actually true. City Council had publicly declared it an actual word shortly before Carlos arrived. _Anything to bring in tourists_ , they had supposedly said. _Anything_.

Carlos and Cecil told stories together, though eventually, Carlos just let Cecil take over entirely. He used that lovely radio voice that was just so menacing and comforting. Like most things in Night Vale, actually.

"If all of this is true, why don't we ever hear about it on the news?" Chris asked.

"Maybe it's too small?" Carlos suggested with a shrug. "It's infamous in the scientific community, but I don't think the media really knows it even exists. Night Vale is its own little world. It even has its own time! And I wonder about the sun sometimes."

The table descended back into an awkward silence before Magdalena got up and headed toward the kitchen, gesturing for Carlos and Maria to follow.

"Enough about that," she said breezily, putting on her apron. It was a vibrant thing, all ruffles and stripes and Southwest colors. "Come help me with dessert."

"Mom, you don't have to plate dessert for everyone," Maria said, halfway to whining. Carlos fervently agreed.

"I don't care—we're making a good impression for his man," she said, nodding at Carlos. Once again, he found himself blushing, ducking his head forward so that his hair might cover his face.

"He's already impressed," he mumbled.

"Still don't care. Maria, you cut the pie. Carlos, you get the whipped cream. I want an assembly line!"

"Wouldn't it be easier to just serve it out there?"

"Shush! Assembly lines don't complain."

The siblings sliced and garnish the cherry pie while Magdalena oversaw. She helped Carlos to make peaks with the whipped cream and made sure the pie slices were all even.

"Presentation is everything," she sighed, ever the chef. Her children muttered and plated. Finally, they all drifted out to the dining room, Magdalena balancing what seemed like a dozen plates each trip. Though she'd been retired from a very successful career as a chef for a little while, some habits die hard.

"This is beautiful!" Cecil crooned as Carlos put down a dish in front of him. The radio host ghosted clever fingers over his wrist, grinning.

" _Gracias_ ," Magdalena said when she finally sat down. "It's my specialty."

"Does Carlos ever bake for you, Cecil?" Ana asked, sinking her fork into her pie slice.

"Oh, yes! He made a cake a couple of weeks ago that was to _die_ for! I had no idea rice flour could yield such a perfect chocolate cake."

"Rice flour?"

"Yes! Wheat and their byproducts were banned by the City Council last year." He went on to explain the ban, and the snakes and malevolent spirits which had preceded it. The adults all took it in with something like skepticism, but the kids were aghast, especially Mary.

"Wait, so you can't have _pizza_?" she gasped.

"Well, Big Rico's has gluten-free slices, and their bowls of stewed tomatoes and wads of cheese are _very_ popular. Though they are legally mandated. It's a misdemeanor not to eat at Big Rico's at least once a week."

"Seriously?" Henry asked, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.

"Unfortunately," Carlos said. "You wouldn't believe how quickly one can get burned out on bowls of tomatoes and pizza made partially of sawdust."

"I keep telling you to give Rico your pizza dough recipe," Cecil commenting, touching the backs of their hands together. "You've mastered the art of gluten-free quite quickly."

"The internet's a great resource."

Everyone chattered over gluten-laden pie, stories of pizza morphing to stories in pizza parlors and college. Things took a turn for the nostalgic and the interesting, as Cecil told everyone about the classes he took at Night Vale Community College.

Their legs pressed together under the table, a line of warmth, a tether to the earth as his family glowed around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone wanna bring me some gluten-laden pie? Apple, please.


	4. Worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One important thing: I don't know much at all about Catholicism, or celebrating Christmas within those parameters. I have a very vague idea of how people who casually identify as Catholic might celebrate, but I'm relying pretty heavily on creative license. Just so we're all aware.  
> Plus, I'm thinking _maybe_ two more chapters? We'll find out!  
>  Also, I'm really fond of chubby!Carlos, but I'm equally fond of Brazilian-male-model-with-a-pair-of-glasses-thrown-on-to-look-"smart"!Carlos. I'm just sharing this because I enjoy sharing things with you lovely folks.  
> Whatever, I'm busy doing my best not to study for chemistry and I'm procrastinating via this note. Sorry.  
> Finally: some surprise (even for me) angst and badassery, as well as religion-based homophobia.

It was strange to sleep in his old room again. He hadn't done so for years, and he'd never done so with another person. When he'd brought George to visit for the first time, they were sharing a dorm at UCLA, just twenty minutes away. He'd showed George this room where he'd spent so much time poring over books and scientific journals. He'd pointed out all of the pictures on his walls, of friends and family and the giants he aspired to.

There were postcard-sized prints of _Starry Night_ and _Nocturne in Black and Gold_ pinned up alongside equations he found beautiful and mementos of times he'd found joyful. George had seen the things that made Carlos who he was, and his first reaction had been a raised eyebrow. That was it, nothing more than that. Still, he'd tucked into himself and smiled dully through the rest of the visit.

Things with George hadn't ended particularly badly. It had just taken Carlos three years to realize that sex and caution and time did not equal love. He'd always been a total dweeb, just this side of sociable, perhaps a bit pudgier than most of his classmates, and when George had asked him out to Starbucks— Well, it only takes a single hour, a single caramel macchiato, to draw time three years into the future.

Carlos had dated a few other men between George and Cecil, but he knew by now that not a single one of them was the type of pure, unfiltered, absolute love that he deserved and worked so hard to return every single day.

The scientist smiled in the darkness and snuffled closer to Cecil's warmth, burying his face in the slanted curve between shoulder and neck.

He'd never pretended for Cecil, and Cecil still loved him completely. He only hoped that Cecil knew he felt the same.

* * *

"Morning!" Cecil said brightly as he wandered into the kitchen. Carlos and his parents were sitting around the table, spearing eggs and berries. He grinned and gave up his seat, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's head and moving to fix him a plate and a cup of coffee. Despite the cheerful tone, Cecil was a bit nightmarish in the mornings. His already-tenuous grasp on a normal human appearance loosened even more before a healthy dose of caffeine. Plus, he was generally quite grumpy. The bright greeting was entirely for his parents' benefit.

"How'd you sleep, _chico_?" Henry asked, affection already coloring his tone.

"Wonderfully, thank you. I hope you slept well too!"

"This one sleeps like a _rock_ ," Magdalena teased before taking a bite of toast. Carlos smiled, enjoying the domesticity coupled with family. Until, if course, he heard a surprised inhale.

"Where did that come from?" Henry asked as Carlos spun to see his parents peering at the mark on Cecil's forehead. Since Cecil was fairly covered in tattoos, and the tendrils of ink could be seen swirling just past his wrists and just against his neck. In a baggy tee-shirt, it was easy to see the beautiful tattoos covering his arms and upper chest, but his forehead had been clear yesterday, and now his parents were halfway to freaking out.

"Where did— Oh."

Cecil's hands had been on the way to his forehead to brush away the offending thing, but when he knew they were staring at his third eye, they fell uselessly to his lap. He looked so dejected, and Carlos was caught between anger and heartbreak.

"Is that a Night Vale thing?" Magdalena asked gently, touching Cecil's arm. He frowned, though the light returned to his eyes. There was no judgement in her voice, just curiosity. Henry pulled back slightly, clearly chagrined at upsetting Cecil.

"Maybe," he said quietly. He was still huddled into himself, playing with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. "It might just be a me thing. When did it appear? I thought I was doing so well!"

"Just a minute ago, _mijo_. Don't worry, this is LA. We can handle weird. Is it something special?"

They had managed to ignore Cecil's violet blush and tendency toward the menacing, and neither Magdalena nor Henry had said anything until Cecil's third eye appeared. It was a testament to how comfortable he felt around them, which was comforting. More comforting was their absolute acceptance. Sometime before Ana and Maria and their families left, everyone had come to a tenuous belief in what Cecil and Carlos were telling everyone. Now, Carlos felt that they could admit anything about Night Vale, and about Cecil, and they'd know he was telling the truth.

Carlos put a plate and a mug in front of Cecil, taking his hand wand watching steam curl in the coffee-scented air. Cecil explained what his third eye did, as well as the fourth and fifth eyes on the his palms. Some of his other tattoos, small glyphs that flashed in and out of perception in different places, acted as protection and binding contracts. He explained a hundred thousand little things about himself, including the menacing and desolate sort of childhood he didn't remember. He didn't tell Henry and Magdalena about the darkness of Strex descending upon the town, or of Carlos dying and finding his heart, or of Station Management. He wove truths and stories, with Carlos occasionally threading in his own little facts, and his parents understood. That was the beautiful thing. They heard these stories and they understood what they meant.

Magdalena laid a hand over Cecil's free hand, and Carlos watched as some of the tattoos swirled and spun at the contact.

"When we say you're welcome in this family, Cecil, we mean it. No matter what you look like, no matter what your life was like before, no matter what your life is like now. Don't you ever feel like you have to hide who you are."

She pulled Cecil close, placed a kiss on his temple, and smiled at the way Carlos grinned.

"Now, come on boys. We've got the rest of the family coming for dinner tonight. You finish your breakfast, Cecil, and you help me with the prepwork, Carlitos."

With a small sound like complaining, Carlos got up from the table and helped his mother prepare for dinner, humming the song most recently posing as the weather and reveling in the normal, icy-gold December sunlight pouring in through the windows.

* * *

Holiday dinners in the Mendoza household were by no means small affairs. There was the fairly immediate family, with Carlos's parents and siblings and _their_ families, and then there were Henry's siblings and Carlos's cousins and suddenly sitting in the living room with a plate on your knees was acceptable.

Cecil got along beautifully with the rest of the family, including Tony, who didn't really take well to strangers. How he'd gotten married and started a family was beyond him, but Carlos certainly couldn't complain when his standoffish cousin thought Cecil was pretty great. Those were very nearly his precise words.

Cecil was surrounded by a flock of children all giddy and bright, and Carlos grinned to see it. They were all dressed up in Christmas Eve finery, though Cecil's shirtsleeves were rolled up to combat the warmth of the heater and more than twenty bodies in a single large space.

"You are so in love, _chico_ ," his _tía_ Luisa said with a grin. "You've been watching him all night."

He flushed darkly, as seemed to be the trend this trip, but only muttered something about being a grown man in a steady relationship and he was in love. She chuckled and patted his shoulder before returning to the kitchen for another helping of green bean casserole.

Eventually, everyone piled into cars en route to the family's church. Though Carlos loved his family's Christmas traditions, he would have much preferred sleeping rather than attending a midnight mass in South LA, but his mother had insisted. There was no point in arguing, especially if Cecil was excited to see the inside of a proper cathedral.

They sat and stood and did all of the necessary actions during mass as the priest intoned to them about stars and children born in stables. Carlos spent far more time than was strictly acceptable simply watching the candlelight shine against the angles and curves and planes of Cecil's face. All of the tattoos were tucked away behind long sleeves and willpower, but if he layered memories in moonlight over reality in church, Cecil was infinitely more precious and beautiful than even the gilded luxury of the altar. He skated worshiping fingers across the knobby bone of Cecil's wrist before taking his hand fully. The warmth was grounding, even as he watched Cecil watch the priest and the choir and everything with rapt, hungry eyes.

About twenty minutes into the sermon, little Julia slumped heavily against Carlos's other side, absolutely down for the count and likely dreaming of the following morning. He kissed the top of her head and smiled soft as candlelight when Cecil cut a glance his way.

* * *

"Carlitos!" cried a woman he barely recognized as everyone milled around and socialized in front of the church. She was roughly his mother's age, perhaps a bit more worn and lined, but warm and vaguely familiar all the same.

"Hello, uh—"

"Oh, you probably don't remember me. Belén Hernandez: Josiah's mother!"

"Yes, of course," Carlos said dully, struggling to remember who Josiah was. "How have you been?"

"You know, the same as ever. And what about you? I heard you moved out to Arizona a while back! Are you back to stay, or are you just visiting?"

"Just here for the holiday," he said, inching away toward where Cecil was dancing with Josephine. Mrs. Hernandez, of course, followed, throwing bright greetings to the family. She, of course, noticed the laughing stranger currently twirling Carlos's niece in her fine velvet dress.

"Who is this _hombre guapo_?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows. Carlos, standing just behind her, smiled fondly. He was well aware that Cecil was handsome. Beautiful, even. It was in the big eyes like galaxies and freckles dusted like stars across his delicate cheekbones. It was in the bowing curve of his smile and long fingers and impossibly long eyelashes. Carlos didn't understand how he'd gotten so lucky.

"This is my boyfriend, Cecil," he said lightly, moving to stand beside him. Josephine kept on dancing, spinning a sleepy Rafael into her orbit. Mrs. Hernandez was quiet for a moment, which was hardly a bad thing. And then she raised a perfectly penciled eyebrow, just a slight arching that deepened the lines in her face from time's normal march forward.

" _Boyfriend_?" she asked, long and slow. Half a dozen people, Magdalena included, turned to see what was going on. Carlos frowned.

"Yeah. We've been dating a while and—"

Mrs. Hernandez lifted a hand, halting Carlos's words abruptly. They dropped like trained flies around his feet.

"Carlitos, _no_. That is a _sin_. It is _wrong_."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but found that his tongue had spontaneously turned to lead. Figuratively, of course—it had happened to several citizens a few months back, and he was extremely grateful that he was able to use it as a metaphor now. And what an apt metaphor it was; he couldn't speak up to defend himself, or Cecil, or their relationship. He wanted to speak, though, to demand answers of her. If what he and Cecil had was a sin, then what of the other relationships that weren't nearly so incandescent and pure? Why weren't _they_ destined for hell, when apparently he was, just because the person he loved happened to be of the same gender? What kind of god discriminated against a love such as theirs? Of course, Carlos hadn't believed in any gods in a long time, chalking the universe up to extraordinary luck, but there were still people in the world who felt that they could look him in the eye and call his love with Cecil _wrong_.

His tongue had gone heavy and metallic. His throat closed. He sagged, he winced, he was bereft.

"How _dare_ you!" hissed Magdalena, drawing forward like a mongoose cornering a snake. She looked absolutely furious, angry in a way that Carlos had never seen. "How _dare_ you say those things to my son!"

"Lena, it goes against—"

"I don't _care_. You _sicken_ me, saying such horrible things to my boys, and on Christmas no less! I can't _believe_ you, Belén Hernandez! Come on, _mijo_. Let's go. We don't need any of this."

And, to everyone's surprise, she took Cecil's hand and led the family back to their cars. First Henry threw an arm around Carlos's shoulders, then his uncle Roman. They all piled back into sedans and sensible minivans, heading home for a few hours of sleep before the children all woke with delighted yells and the sounds of paper tearing. In the backseat of his parents' car, Cecil smiled in the passing gold glow of streetlights and rested a warm hand over his.


	5. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes one of my favorite fics to have written! So fun and fluffy and fuzzy and just _these boys_. I swear.  
>  Anyway, thank you all for reading this, and enjoying it, and just being so lovely guys! Seriously, the response to this has been amazing. You're all wonderful and perfect and beautiful.  
> Oh, and if you're wondering what Cecil's present looks like, [it's beautiful](http://img0.etsystatic.com/000/0/6025596/il_570xN.277392256.jpg). You may recognize it as a Sherlock fandom thing, and you may also recognize it as basically perfect for Cecil.

At about eight in the morning, everyone in the house was woken by the collective cries and shouts of the children. Carlos knew that they'd all been up at _least_ half an hour before, but they'd clearly waited for a marginally decent hour before turning into Christmas banshees.

"Do we have to?" Cecil mumbled into the pillow, scrunching his eyes further shut and furrowing his brows. "Can't we sleep?"

Carlos chuckled and kissed the wrinkliest part of Cecil's forehead, watching it smooth under his touch.

"Yes, we have to. Come on, it's Christmas! There's presents and breakfast and Christmas specials. I know it's different in Night Vale, but I also know it's not _that_ different."

Carlos got to his feet and tugged at the blankets till Cecil was curled up on the sheet. He shot Carlos a mutinous look, to which Carlos just laughed. He held out a hand, tossing the blankets aside.

"Come on."

With a heavy sigh, Cecil slithered out of bed and took Carlos's proffered hand. They made a quick stop in the kitchen to get coffee before meeting the rest of the family in the living room. It was unbelievable how many presents were under the tree. That was, of course, the direct result of having the whole family here for Christmas morning. Carlos couldn't imagine a small celebration; Christmas for him was a large, frenetic, joyful tangle of family and wrapping paper and evergreen candles.

They sat together on the floor near the tree, Cecil automatically slumping into Carlos's side. Julia and Rafael began passing out gifts, and Carlos grinned at Cecil's soft violet blush at the pile collecting at his side. True, most of them would be generic gifts like cookies and shower gel sets, but it was so incredibly kind of everyone to bring him into the family like this. He was tremendously grateful toward everyone for welcoming Cecil so completely and instantaneously.

"Should I wait before opening them, or...?" Cecil whispered.

"Just until Julie and Rafi are done," he returned, playing with a stray paper bow as he spoke. Cecil reached out and plucked it up with his long fingers, peeling off the paper and sticking it to the scientist's forehead.

"There, that's _much_ better," he crooned, sliding feet first into his radio voice. Carlos rolled his eyes but kept it there, even if the adhesive tickled his skin.

Finally, the twins sat down amid their collective mound of presents, looking for all the world like they'd conquered a land of Santa paper and metallic bows. On cue, the entire family ripped into their gifts, the adults tearing off the giftwrap with the same verve as the children. People hugged and crowed about silly or thoughtful gifts, parents opened action figures and art sets, couples adopted soppy looks at romantic gestures. Cecil, predictably, loved every single present he received, including the drugstore aftershave and silly mug. Carlos had given him a _ridiculous_ sweater covered in mildly horrifying cats. Cecil ended up giving him a brand new copy of _A Brief History of Time_ , which was incredibly thoughtful, considering the tattered and dissolving copy currently on his nightstand back in Night Vale.

"Thank you, Cecil," he said softly, kidding him on the cheek. Half of the children made loud noises of disgust, which only prompted the rest of the couples to kiss and wiggle their eyebrows at the kids.

After the giftwrap had all been disposed of or tucked away into a drawer for reuse, everyone sat around eating breakfast and smiling at the kids playing with their toys. Josephine danced around the living room in a delicate fairy princess costume as Raphael and Yvonne played with her Avengers action figures and Junior tried to teach Julia how to hula hoop. Mary lay on the floor, setting up her shiny new phone and Cecil pulled the awful sweater over his head. The cats' glassy eyes clicked together and he grinned hugely.

"How do I look?" he asked cheerily, looking for all the world like he was expecting everyone to proclaim him some extraordinary fashion maven. This was, of course, someone with multiple pairs of furry pants in his half of the closet.

"You look _perfect_ ," Carlos said, grinning and tugging his fashion disaster boyfriend even closer. They sat quietly together in the cheerful glow created by love and happiness, ridiculous in an obnoxious cat sweater and a "lounging labcoat," courtesy, of course, of Cecil.

* * *

There was a big Christmas dinner of prime rib and _arroz con pollo_ and roasted vegetables. Cecil still wore the sweater, Carlos had long since shed the labcoat (it was a white robe, let's be honest here), and everyone was chattering. The dining and living rooms were all ensconced within a soft roar of conversation, of Carlos's terrible puns, of Henry and Roman and Luisa telling stories of their childhood. Mary groaned loudly every time Carlos set up one of his absolutely _ridiculous_ science jokes (which everyone had heard a million times, most of them from Carlos himself), only to collapse into giggles when Carlos wriggled his eyebrows at her in the most exaggerated and obnoxious manner.

Shortly after the dishes were washed and everyone had moved back to the living room, someone, likely one of the kids, started up some impromptu caroling. Soon, the whole family, Cecil included, was crooning traditional carols and newer favorites. Magdalena's face as Junior started a round of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" would stay with Carlos forever.

Eventually, everyone who lived in and around LA left amid tight hugs and orders to _Just call every once in a while, Carlitos, we worry_. Henry and Magdalena went up to bed while the scientist and radio host sat in the living room just a while longer.

"I almost don't want to go back," Cecil admitted, voice hushed and velvet soft. Carlos's arm, slung neatly over Cecil's shoulders, tightened to bring him closer.

"I know what you mean."

They let the _almost_ hang in the air and imagined a life made in LA, or maybe New York, or even Monmouth, Illinois. Carlos would find a job working research and Development for some company, Cecil would find work at any radio station he chose, and they could live in a tiny house full of beautiful things. They could have a cat that would never float or secrete venom through its hair follicles. They'd never face existential terror of the void, or gaping schisms, or radioactive fallout. They could have cars that always existed and they wouldn't be watched by anyone's secret police and they could have pizza once a month if they so chose.

"I don't care where we build a life," Carlos said onto Cecil's soft hair, "as long as I build it with you."

Cecil hummed, closer to asleep than awake. Chuckling, Carlos stood up, bringing Cecil to his feet and hauling him bodily up the stairs and to his room. The radio host slumped down into bed, too tired for his typical before-bed routine, and by the time Carlos got into bed, Cecil was already asleep. He immediately curled in to curve around the scientist like it was an instinct he'd been born with, fitting himself so intrinsically and automatically to Carlos's body.

He smiled in the darkness and let himself be lulled to sleep by the gentle violet glow of Cecil's tattoos under his pajamas and the murmuring hush of inhaling and exhaling.

* * *

"Oh, I already miss you!" Magdalena cried as she helped the boys pack the car. They left with so much more than when they came, half the backseat covered in presents and a cooler full of home-cooked food. Carlos beamed at her, always her little boy, her beloved _mijo_.

"I promise to come back before next Christmas," he said as he drew her into a hug. She clung tightly to him, reluctant as ever to let him go back. "And I'll call the second we're back in Night Vale. Hopefully."

Magdalena laughed and released Carlos, moving now to Cecil.

"You be good to my Carlitos," she said, waggling a finger and looking more menacing than a woman with jingly earrings had any right to be. She then reached up, placing both hands on either side of Cecil's face, bringing it down so she could place a motherly kiss on his blank forehead.

"I always will be," he promised, smiling down at her. She patted his shoulder and let him stand properly.

"And if you don't bring Cecil with you next time, I'll make you do all the dishes the whole time," she warned Carlos, raising a perfectly-shaped brow.

"Don't worry, Mom," he said. "We're a package deal now."

" _Good_ ," she stressed, winking. "Now go on, if you leave now, you might miss the traffic."

Carlos swept her into another hug, whispering, "I love you, _mamá_."

"I love you too, Carlitos."

* * *

The desert sprawled out everywhere, inky beyond the lurid sign of the Arby's. They'd made it to Night Vale in around six hours, one of which was spent in a tiny restaurant on the way. It didn't make logistical sense, of course, but Carlos had a vague idea that Night Vale wanted its voice back as quickly as possible. They hadn't even made it to the apartment yet, just stopped at Arby's for a dinner to be eaten on the hood of Carlos's car. The lights spun and swirled and tangled together so brilliantly above them.

"I never thought I'd leave Night Vale and want to come back," Carlos admitted quietly, long after the rustling of fast food wrappers and things in the desert scrub faded away. "I never expected to come to this place and find a home, or a _life_."

Cecil hummed happily, his head resting lightly on Carlos's shoulder. His hand was warm on the scientist's knee, and it was so like the night of the bowling alley incident that he felt an intense pang of nostalgia. He ached softly around the puckered and silvered and pinked scars dusting his body, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"I love you, Cecil," he said softly, the words fitting into place in his head. The radio host tilted his own face up, beaming like the hidden moon, which wasn't a lie at all.

"I love you too," he replied, pressing a featherlight kiss to the underside of his jaw, lips dusting the hinge.

Carlos pulled away, turning so that he could look at the shining face of the creature he had given his heart to. There was so much love and light glittering in Cecil's eyes that Carlos could hardly stand it. The words solidified on his tongue, slotting neatly into place rather than turning it to metal.

"Marry me?" he asked softly, lights skittering above.

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation before Cecil pulled him into an enthusiastic kiss like a wildfire, pressing yeses around Carlos's lips and looking for all the world like he'd won the lottery on Christmas day.

"Oh, Carlos, yes!" Cecil cried, glowing perhaps a bit too literally. A year ago, Carlos would have been a little terrified, but now he just smiled to see it. "Yes, of course, always. Always, always, always."

They laughed like soda bubbles into the night, the lights churning and the world turning and the Christmas lights still glowing in the trailer park down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm secretly the queen of surprise engagement fluff. I'm not even a little sorry.


End file.
